Virocan Penal Colony

She wasn't sure what she was expecting when they pushed her out of the room and transported her in the brig of a small shuttlecraft to the penal colony on a remote part of the planet.

She hadn't seen the stars - or daylight for that matter - in two days.

It had taken two days for the Virocan guards to transport her to the prison.

She wondered what would happen to her crew.

At least, one day, she thought, they would make it home, even if it was without her.

And, for that possibility, she would gladly spend the rest of her days without seeing the light.

She hoped that she would catch a glimpse of sunlight when they herded her into the holding cell to await what would happen to her next.

But, the Virocan guards blindfolded her as they marched her into the prison. She had no idea what this prison looked like or where she was. Her sight obscured, she tried to rely on her other senses.

She heard nothing.

It was deadly silent outside the prison walls - or at least she thought there could be walls. She really had no clue - no hint of what this place looked like.

So her own mind filled in the blanks.

And the only thing she smelled seemed to have the strong, almost unmistakable scent of sulfur.

The guards pushed her along as the heel of her boot skidded across the floor until they stopped and removed her blindfold.

She blinked wildly for a few seconds, her eyes taking time to adjust to the bright light in the circular holding chamber.

There were no windows - no clues as to what time it was. No sunlight. No stars. Just the hard gray concrete of the room and gray flooring. The chamber was stripped bare of any personality, any familiarity. Sanitized.

A Virocan guard stepped forward from behind the solitary metal desk that rested in the center of the room.

"Captain Kathryn Janeway?" he asked with a voice as smooth as silk and as deadly as a bullet.

"Yes," she replied, shielding her eyes from the harsh light that shined from the fixtures above her.

"I am Commandant Vernard of the Virocan Penitentiary. You are now in my charge." He walked around her, sizing up the human. He looked directly at her. "You have no privilege of rank here," he said as he removed the 4 pips from the collar of her uniform. "You will have no communication with the outside world." He looked for the combadge he knew her people used to communicate with each other and other aliens. "Your combadge?" he asked.

"Removed," replied Kathryn. "My people do not make it a habit of sharing technology with potentially hostile forces."

"But you do share weapons of a more biological nature," the guard raised an eyebrow at the woman.

Kathryn chose not to reply.

"You are perhaps wondering how you can understand me without your translator?" Venard mentioned casually. "We too have our own technology…and weapons."

Kathryn made no movement, standing perfectly still. She would not give him the reaction he desired.

Fear was something she determined that this Venard would never see from her.

Another guard came forward handing some clothing to the Commandant.

"You will remove your clothing," he directed Kathryn, "and put these on. You are not a Captain. You are not an officer. You are not Starfleet. You are Prisoner 8432. Nothing more."

She took the clothing from him, a simple pair of cotton gray pants and matching gray tank top. No shoes. Nothing else.

She did not ask for privacy as she undressed. She knew she would be granted none.

Any sort of individual rights she had under the Federation, even if she was its prisoner, were gone.

At least these pajamas don't itch, she chuckled silently. She had to keep her humor. If nothing else, she needed to preserve that part of herself.

Once in her prison garb, Vernard took her uniform, ripping the shirt in two. "You will no longer need it," he said offhandedly. "Take her to cell block 8400. You know which cell."

The guard shook his head, placed the laser lock on Kathryn's wrists, and re-blindfolded her.

Kathryn was led through the prison, stumbling through the dark as the guard pressed her along. Again, she heard nothing. No yelling, no jeering, no screams. No sounds of other prisoners. Nothing.

The only noise she did hear was the sound of her guard's boots squeak as it hit the cold gray floor.

She wondered if it was tile…or perhaps some form of plastic. Concrete maybe? Like everything else in this place.

Kathryn wished she could see.

After what seemed like an eternity, the guard finally pushed her into a small cell and removed her blindfold.

"Welcome to cell 8432. Make yourself comfortable," he snickered as he slammed the iron door behind him, leaving Kathryn alone.

The first thing Kathryn noticed was the size of the room - if you could call it a room. It was no more than 6 foot by 6 foot, if even that. A single cot lay in one corner - no blanket, no pillow, and a latrine right beside it.

Well…the Doctor has always been wanting me to catch up on some rest, she thought to herself.

A small light hung from the ceiling, intermittently blinking. Like everything else in the place, the room was gray. There was only a tiny window in the iron door, and it was too high up for Kathryn to see out of it.

There was nothing she could do.

She plopped down on the cot, hoping it was not as dirty as it looked. She slapped her hands against her knees, rubbing back and forth.

Her tongue unconsciously raked her teeth - deep in thought.

So long as my crew got out of this alive, I'll survive.

She laid on the cot, bringing her hands behind her head.

What else could she do?

She was only one woman. She knew that. There were many Virocans. Too many that had died. And she only blamed one - herself.

It was her decision to go to Virocan space.

Her command.

And now she would have all too much time rethinking the decisions of just one.

What else could she do but sleep?

….

Voyager, Ensign Kim's Quarters

Tom Paris sat across from Harry Kim at the ensign's desk in his quarters. He watched as Harry scrolled through data pad after data pad, searching for something that he could possibly have missed.

"Face it, Harry," Tom sighed, "there's nothing here."

"There's got to be!" Harry insisted. "We spent a month on Viroca enhancing our warp drive, and I refuse to believe we didn't learn anything."

"And…" Tom muttered, "within those last two weeks, we spent the better part trying to find a cure to this pathogen that has devastated the population." He shook his head. "750,000 dead on a planet of three million. And it's our fault."

"I know," Harry brought a hand to his mouth, letting a deep breath out through his mouth. "It already was a small planet. I don't know if the Virocans can ever recover."

"They certainly did not want any more of our help," Tom noted, walking over to the ensign's replicator. "Coffee with two sugars," he told the computer. "Anything?" he asked Harry.

Kim shook his head.

Tom brought the hot black liquid to his lips, savoring the warmth. "I can see how they accused us of biological warfare."

Kim shrugged in agreement. "Alien species arrive on a planet after negotiations to land. Stays on the planet for a month to learn and explore. Deadly germ is spread by said alien species. Said alien species refuses to leave because our warp drive is offline during upgrade. Offers to help find a cure. But whatever we try only makes the disease spread more rapidly. Then, the deadly pandemic gets worse. We are accused of biological warfare, and our captain pays the price." Kim listed what happened as if he was a drone. He still had a difficult time processing what had happened.

"The Virocan never did want us to land," sighed Tom. "We should have just left the space then and there. It's not hard to understand that…after all that happened…they came to the conclusion that our being on their planet was never of a pure intention. In their minds, we came to annihilate them just so we could get home faster. Use up their resources, destroy them." Tom shook his head.

"And no matter what Tuvok said during the tribunal, he couldn't definitively prove otherwise," Harry noted, placing his head on his desk. "I've got a headache," he moaned.

"Join the crowd," his friend retorted.

"And why would they believe what Tuvok had to say? He had no evidence. And then they had heard the rumors of the Equinox throughout the Delta Quadrant - doing whatever they could to get back home," Harry continued.

"Yes," Tom concurred, "Captain Ransom did us no favors there."

The computer chimed, letting Ensign Kim know someone stood at his door. "Come in," he said.

"So anything new?" B'Elanna asked the two men as she entered the room. "Do you mind?" she gestured to Harry's replicator. The Ensign shook his head. "Raktajino steamed," said Torres.

"Long day?" Tom asked his wife as she inhaled the piping hot Klingon beverage.

"Too long," said B'Elanna as she took a seat on Harry's couch.

"How's the warp core doing?" asked Kim.

"Well," Torres began, "she's doing fine. Better than fine, actually. With the new upgrade, I believe we'll be able to go at least half as long without stopping for more dilithium." She shook her head, running her fingers through her short hair. "At least the Captain's sacrifice won't be in vain. The warp core will continue to hold up, and we'll lose some years off our voyage." Her lips turned down in a frown. "Still…wasn't worth losing her," she murmured.

"No," said Harry. "It's not worth anything."

"What about you, Ensign?" B'Elanna asked. "Have you and Tom found anything? Anything to suggest our innocence? Evidence? Just anything…" The Chief Engineer looked from her husband to his best friend, desperately wanting to see some shimmer of hope.

Harry shook his head. "No matter how I approach it, there's nothing. No anomaly that could have caused the virus. No atmospheric changes. Nothing," he repeated.

"Dammit!" B'Elanna cursed. "Sorry, I just….It's so damn frustrating. How can we prove innocence over something we had no control of?!" She rose to her feet.

Tom stood and placed a hand on his wife's shoulder, attempting to cool her Klingon temper. "That's the problem," he said. "Especially when the Virocans think we did have control….especially that Commande Veilor fellow."

"So…we try to find evidence," said Harry.

"We know." B'Elanna was exasperated. "You just said there wasn't any."

Tom looked at Harry. He had that wily look in his eye. "Perhaps, we're going at it the wrong way?" Tom suggested.

"How?" his wife demanded to know, taking another sip of Raktajino.

"Well, we've been looking for anomalies, atmospheric changes, hell, even temporal distortions, but none of that provides the answer," Tom continued.

"So?" Harry shrugged his shoulders, looking again at his data padd.

"Well, maybe, we should try looking at the Virocans themselves. Their people…culture…history," Tom explained, "that sort of thing."

"Well," B'Elanna cracked, "you are the history buff."

"You know, they're very militaristic - these Virocans, also very religious," said Tom. "Reminds me of an ancient Earth group, can't even think of their names now."

"They certainly like to have control," said Harry. "Maybe there's something to that theory," he mused.

"Computer," Tom said, "access everything we have gathered about Virocan history and culture and download it to the viewscreen in my quarters. Also run a scan about twentieth-century Earth military history. Maybe something there will trigger my memory."

"We can only hope," replied Harry.